Кейт Новак: Finder's Bane

“Um, I hadn’t mentioned it, but I’m a priest of Finder.”

“I know,” Holly replied.

“My real name’s Joel. Joel of Finder,” the bard admitted, then realized what Holly had just said. “How did you know?” he asked with surprise.

“That you were a priest? I watched you cast a blessing on us before we fought the second patrol of Zhents.”

“Oh. Right. I only mentioned it because I wasn’t sure if there was any problem with you helping a priest of a different god.”

Holly shook her head. “Not with Finder’s folk.”

“Finder’s folk?” Joel asked. “You know some of his followers in Daggerdale?”

“Not in Daggerdale, no. But some of the creatures in Tarkhaldale are supposed to follow him. There’s a priestess and a temple there.”

“Tarkhaldale?” Joel asked. He’d never heard of the place. Jedidiah had certainly never mentioned it.

“Tarkhaldale. It’s up in the mountains on the edge of the Great Desert.”

“You mean the Lost Vale?” Joel asked.

“Well, I guess that’s what outsiders call it. We’ve always called it Tarkhaldale. You can hardly go on calling it the Lost Vale now that its been found and people live there and all,” the girl pointed out.

“I suppose not. That’s where I’m headed, actually, to the Lost—uh, Tarkhaldale.”

“How are you going to get there? There’s no path into the mountains. They say Alias the sellsword only gets in and out with the magic of a wizard that lives there.”

“I have a map a friend gave me. How do you know so much about the people of Tarkhaldale?”

“Elminster talks about them,” Holly explained. “Elminster talks about everything, actually. He’s so interesting. I could sit and listen to him for hours.”

“I’ve heard he has quite a reputation with the ladies,” Joel noted.

Holly snorted. “Honestly! You sound just like Brother Robin. That’s the priest who teaches me. Elminster is old enough to be my grandfather.”

“Elminster is old enough to be the grandfather of quite a few women—probably is, for that matter,” Joel replied.

“Well, he’s always treated me like a lady,” Holly said, defending the wizard’s honor.

“That’s his secret, is it?” Joel teased.

Holly bent her head, and even through her dark skin, Joel could see the blush rising to the surface. Not wanting her to feel awkward, he hastily changed the subject.

“You were right about getting off the trail and hiding. Did you know there was a herd of Banites coming or did you just sense evil?” the bard asked.

“I sensed a great evil. I thought it might be Cyricists or the Xvimists, or some evil beast, but I never expected Banites! I thought they were all worshiping Cyric or Xvim. Don’t they know their god is dead?”

“Well, it had occurred to me to run after them and let them know—kind of clue them in, as it were, just in case they hadn’t heard, but, well, you know how some people get. What they believe is just as strong as, if not stronger than, the truth.”

Holly chuckled. “You’re wise beyond your years,” she teased.

“I guess it takes one to know one.”

Holly grinned, and Joel suddenly felt at ease. At the barding college, he hadn’t had many friends. His fellow students had thought him strange, and while his teachers had seemed to like him, they’d all been much older. None of them, students or teachers, had been interested or even tolerant of his joining Finder’s priesthood. The college discouraged followers of the new god, fearful they would draw the faithful away from the more traditional barding gods like Oghma or Milil. It was comfortable talking with someone close to his own age who didn’t seem to find his priesthood odd or subversive.

“You think it’s safe to move on, O native guide?” he asked.

Holly faced northward and seemed to be concentrating in the direction the Banites had taken. After a moment she looked back up at Joel. “Yes. So long as we’re not in a hurry to catch up with those Banites.”

Once they’d led their horses back to the trail and remounted, they made their way northward at a leisurely pace up and down the meadow-covered hills. Joel pumped Holly for reports about Daggerdale and was soon flooded with information. The girl obviously loved her native land, despite all its trials and dangers.

“We were once called Merrydale,” she explained. “That was long before the Zhents came and began using us as a doormat. Back then my people didn’t need a dagger to greet strangers.”

She knew the history of Daggerdale’s founding, its great lords and wizards of the past, all the wealth that could be grown or discovered in its hills and dells, and the names of many of the members of the Black Network who had perpetrated crimes against the Daggerfolk.

Despite how readily and easily the girl talked, there were times when she did not finish one sentence before going on to another. Joel was left with a sense that there was something she wasn’t telling him about the dale. He suspected it had something to do with her visit to the lord and mage of Shadowdale, but he wasn’t about to press her for details. He was just glad of having found a guide, particularly since Branson had warned him the Daggerfolk were not keen on putting up strangers for the night. With Holly, he suspected he’d be accepted, if not welcomed, at some farm.

Noting how close the sun was to the peaks of the Desertsmouth Mountains, Joel decided it was a good time to ask about lodging for the evening. “There’s nothing on my map about any inns between here and Dagger Falls. Can we get a farmer to put us up?”

“We should reach Anathar’s Dell just about suppertime.”

“Is that an inn?” Joel asked.

“It’s a safe place,” Holly answered simply.

They crested a hill and were treated to a view of the trail for miles ahead as it descended into a wide valley and climbed back up the next hill. Off in the distance, they could see the procession of Banites climbing the hill.

Holly squinted her eyes, trying to focus on the distant group. “What’s pulling that big cart?” she asked.

“It’s not a cart,” Joel explained. “It’s some sort of big ship hovering over the ground by means of some magic.”

“A magic ship?” Holly puzzled. “What are they doing with a magic ship?”

Joel shrugged. “You tell me. When I was in school, I didn’t think I’d need to study much about Bane’s followers, Bane being dead and all.”

“Let’s wait here till they’re out of sight,” Holly said.

“Fine by me,” Joel agreed.

They dismounted and let the horses graze on the grass growing by the trail while they waited for the procession to reach the summit in the distance. All the while Holly watched them with a suspicious glare.

Joel looked down into the valley. Off to the west of the road, he spotted several buildings with wisps of smoke rising from them that might indicate someone cooking supper. “I don’t suppose that could be Anathar’s Dell,” he said hopefully, nodding in the direction of the buildings.

Holly nodded.

“I take it you don’t want the Banites to spot us leaving the road and entering the dell,” Joel guessed.

“That’s right,” Holly replied. “The trail leading there is hidden. If you know where to look, it’s not hard to find, so we try not to draw attention to it.”

When the last pilgrim Banite had crested the far hill and disappeared, Holly began walking Butternut down the trail. Joel followed with the Zhentarim mount. Holly kept her gaze fixed on the far hill, not taking any chances in case the followers of Bane had kept a watch behind them.

At the bottom of the hill, alongside the road, was a field of poppies and daisies. In the center of the field stood a small stone shrine. A sheaf of wheat was engraved on the stone over the shrine’s entrance—an ancient symbol of the goddess Chauntea, the earth-mother. Like many shrines to Chauntea, this one housed a natural spring, and a stream flowed from the shrine across the field to the trail and then through a stone culvert beneath the trail. At the moment there was nothing more than a trickle of water in the streambed.